Gettin' Hooked by Nyomi Scott Page A

quick shrug.
    â€œNo? Nothing?”
    â€œNope.”
    He wrote something on his pad, then looked back at me. “I can think of a couple of things.”
    â€œLike?”
    â€œLike your eye. You want to tell me how that happened?”
    â€œAn accident.” That was no lie. Michelle’s fist wasn’t meant for me.
    Mr. Alton glared at me for a sec. My heart pumped and I hoped he didn’t notice the way my pulse roared along my neck. Or see how my hands shook just slightly.
    â€œHmmmph, an accident. I see.” He wrote some more, then clicked the mouse on his desk, making his computer screen come out of sleep mode. “What about this, then?” He turned his flat-panel screen my way, and fo’ sho’, the homepage of GettinHooked was pulled up.
    â€œGettinHooked.com,” I mumbled, forcing another shrug and strugglin’ to keep my voice all casual. Making a Web site wasn’t punishable, so I had no idea why he was bringing it up, other than, of course, how Jonathan met Leza and why Michelle kicked Leza’s ass.
    â€œYour creation.”
    â€œYeah, so?” Attitude, too much attitude, I knew. I was tryin’ to stay out of the mess, not jump into the hot water.
    Knowing what I was going to see, I just glanced at it right quick, but my eye caught something just as he turned the screen back toward him.
    My heart squeezed all tight, and I leaned forward, trying to get another glimpse at the screen as my lungs burned for a breath.
    There was no way—no way possible—that I saw those numbers right. Yesterday we’d been at around six hundred. The member number showing on Mr. Alton’s screen was more than two grand. There had to be some sort of mistake. No way was there more than two thousand student from Howard and Creekside registered for Gettin’ Hooked.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with creating a Web site, Imani. I’d like to think our staff has encouraged you to think outside the box in this manner.”
    Leaning back in my chair, I folded my arms across my chest and bit my bottom lip to keep from laughing. Figures Mr. Alton would try to take some kind of credit for the bomb I’d designed with Kayla.
    The first-period bell rang, ending the class. Outside voices rose as students made their way to second period.
    Lifting a brow, I curled my lip sarcastically and waited for him to go on.
    â€œBut I’m a little concerned about some of the things I’ve been hearing about this Web site. People are getting hooked up? What’s that mean to you, Imani? Sex?”
    My face flamed. I hadn’t talked about sex with my daddy since he’d given me his version of the birds and the bees, and I sure as hell didn’t want to have a talk anywhere near sex with Mr. Alton.
    Were folks hooking up, hooking up because of my site? Yeah, I knew some of my friends had been having sex because of it. That didn’t mean I was. Though maybe prom night. Maybe with the right guy. Maybe prom night with the right guy. If I found him.
    I kept my lip square between my teeth, saying nothing to his comment about sex. When he realized I wasn’t spilling, he continued.
    â€œAnd there’s been fights.”
    And I’d known all along that’s what this was all about.
    â€œI don’t know anything about either of those, Mr. Alton. My Web site is to help my girls find prom dates that aren’t guys we’ve been hanging with since we were five.”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œAnd your black eye was an accident?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œI see.” He turned his pale brown gaze away from me and started scribbling on his paper again, the silence getting on my nerves.
    â€œCan I go back to class now?” But what I really wanted to do was find a computer and find out what sort of hype my site had attracted and why the membership profiles was off the heezy.
    He lifted his face from his crazed note